Thoughts and Feelings
by pjmswear
Summary: [ONE-SHOT:] Ever wonder what they were thinking before and after something happened that changed their lives? What was in their mind and what emotions they were feeling? Change is a dangerous thing, and so is trauma.


**Thoughts and Feelings**

 _"Change is a dangerous thing, and so is trauma."_

* * *

They said that time heals our wounds. I don't believe in that. Mostly because I've experienced something that can't be healed. And because I think it's just something not worth believing in. What I believe is time nurses our wound, but leave us permanently scarred.

I remembered when I opened the door. I could only focus on the palm trees on his stupid Hawaiian shirt, not his bleached face or his blood red lips formed in a malicious smile. My eyes and attention were still glued to those damn trees even if pain shot through me from my abdomen as I heard the loud gunshot. I felt nothing but searing pain, I didn't even feel scared.

My legs didn't work anymore after that time, the doctors said I was permanently paralyzed. It took a few hours for that to sink in and I just sobbed until my tears ran out. I was stuck in a wheelchair since then.

Because I retired from my mantle three months before that, it was a bit easy to have a new one. I created something powerful and dangerous at the same time. I become the most powerful hacker in the whole world. I could see everything, I know everything. I could hack a triple-encrypted file within a minute or less. I was proud of what I become, yet I didn't let it take over my head.

I did way more things as that hacker than I did when I was that teenage girl hero jumping from rooftops to rooftops. It was because I had the support of the whole family, they always backed me up. Then, I got the call from my doctor saying that there's still a chance that I could regain the use of my legs.

I didn't refuse; I missed my legs, after all. I want to walk, to run, to jump again. I don't want to be stuck in a wheelchair for life. So I went for the offer. I undergone a surgery that restored a part of my spine, and I could move my legs again. I was elated.

I decided that my time as that powerful hacker has ended, and I resumed my old mantle. I kept my hacker identity a secret and only the family and a group I made know about that name. No one else but them.

Time nurses our wounds, but left us permanently scarred. That was what happened to me when one goon had snucked up on me when I was on patrol with my former mentor-turned-equal partner. He pointed the gun at me, and I froze; my mind went blank. I couldn't move, this time, I was afraid. I was grateful when my partner saved me, knocking the goon out. Because if he didn't... Let's just say that history would probably repeat itself.

* * *

They said that my death didn't matter, because I didn't really die. They argued that I just lied, and I did. I faked my own death and funeral, something I'm not proud of. Something that I want to change if I had the power to control time or to time-travel. But no, I didn't have powers, I'm one of those heroes with no powers.

Those people, the ones that said it didn't matter, doesn't really know what happened that time. I couldn't blame them, though, they deserved to be mad at me for faking my death and causing such utter misery. But it still hurts—it still stings when they say it does not matter.

I was terrified, I just couldn't show it because I don't want to look weak.

I was strapped into that death machine, where my life depended on. I was watching them argue, debating if they would let me live or not. My former mentor, my adoptive father—he was so adamant to let me live. He fought off the guy that wanted to end my life so a lot of people could live. While I was so thankful that my father would not let me die, I also need to sacrifice myself to save people. It was needed, it was necessary.

I remembered when the guy blasted my adoptive father out of the way. I remembered when the guy covered my mouth—suffocating me—and the salty taste of skin reached my tongue. I remembered when he forced me to swallow the tablet. I remembered when my heart stopped beating. It was terrying.

I may be only dead for a few seconds before my heart was restarted, but I still died. Every night, I have nightmares and night terrors about that memory. I always wake up from those gasping for breath and imagining that the room was getting smaller and smaller. I developed claustrophobia because of that memory. I panicked during my spy days when someone tries to restrain me or bound me, even giving me a small hug.

The idea of not moving is so far-fetched for me. Not to mention, scary.

After my supposed death, I became jumpy all the time. I wasn't the same person I was back then, I was so different. I was not used to being what I am now, all because of that damn incident. It changed a lot in my life, a lot that I want to take back.

When I came back and announced that I wasn't dead to the family, I let them vent out their anger on me. I let them yell at me because I deserve this, after hurting them so much. I was somehow relieved that my youngest brother didn't get mad on me. We were both surprised to find each other alive, because last time I saw him, he was six feet under the ground. And maybe he got the news that I'm "dead."

The people that said that my death doesn't matter doesn't know what happened. They weren't there to witness how I died (even if it's such a short time). They don't understand. All I wanted was to pretend that these things—me dying, going undercover as a spy, all the stress and hardworks—never happened. Maybe it's easier that way. I just have to move on forward and forget the past.

* * *

They said that death is quick and painless. I say that's bullshit; because my death wasn't quick nor painless. It was agonizingly slow and painful.

It started when I found out about my real mother and how she was alive. I was overjoyed, then discovered that a madman (or a madclown, take your pick) had her. I tried to save her from his clutches, but it turned out to be a trap. I vividly remembered him beating me up with a crowbar. I remembered the pain I felt, how I was tortured and beaten. If that wasn't enough, the fucking clown had to leave my mother and I some mind-blowing gift (literally): a bomb.

I can still feel the fire burning my skin, the force of the bomb blowing knocking the wind out of me and breaking a lot of my bones, the pool of blood gushing out of me like it just happened a second ago. I remembered that my mother's terrified eyes was the last thing I saw before the bomb blew. I couldn't resist being afraid myself, too, because I was some teenage hero going to die because I was so stupid enough to fall for a trap. What a shitty life.

I think I was fine with staying dead before. I had no problems—no bastard of a mentor to deal with, no ridiculous costume to wear (which I grudgingly admit that I missed), no supervillains or goons to beat and throw to prison. But a freakin' living zombie decided that he would brought me back.

With the help of the Lazarus Pit, I was revived—alive and kicking. The problem was I was crazy that time. I suffered from bloodlust so I killed a few of living zombie's assassins. It was not enough for crazy me, so I grabbed some guns and went on a killing rampage. However, bear in mind that I only killed villains not civilians. The city needs to get rid of filth, like those sons of a bitch or bitches or whatever.

That was my mission for a short time. Then, I checked the news if my murderer was dead. When I figured out he was not, I was enraged. The cold-hearted bastard of a mentor didn't even kill the person who was responsible for my death. Where was my justice? There was nothing, and I wanted to yell to the whole world to fuck off. I fumed for days, killing more villains to get his attention so I could face him.

He was so shocked to discover that the anti-hero was me, his former protégé who once promised to not kill. Well, I was not his perfect little soldier anymore (that's Goldie). We had a fight that ended up with me firing my bullets at him. He left me alone after that, saying that I wasn't myself. I wanted to punch his fucking manipulative face so much, but he vanished like a bat he was. A thousand curse words were left stuck in my throat.

Life was unfair. You really wouldn't know what would happen. Your death is always going to be unknown—you're not going to know about it until you really die. It was really unfair, and to add that someone you trust didn't even avenge you.

Death is not painless, that is a lie. It's painful—in a physical and mental way, and especially in a emotional way. It just hurts, hurts too much that you want to give up.

* * *

I am not afraid of death. That's what I always told myself. Being afraid of death means you're a coward. And as a former assassin and a immensly-trained hero, I was no coward. I would not back out of a fight, I would start the fight. Being afraid wasn't just me.

So, why was I afraid that time when I faced my clone? I didn't know either, other than the idea is simply preposterous. My mother was standing nearby us two, merely watching and not moving at all from her place. My clone's grip on his katana tightened, and I gulped down the bile that was rising on my throat.

In that memory, fear was pulsing through my veins. I was alone, against my mother and this clone of mine. Father was rather busy fighting with someone and his other accomplices were dealing with something or someone, too, or they were not in the same place as Father and I were.

The feeling of the blade cutting through my stomach was painful and I was worried if it had injured some major organs in me. And I think it did, because a second later I spat out blood. I was bleeding from the inside. The situation was nerve-wracking and when the blade left my body, I collapsed on the ground.

I could faintly hear my father calling out my name that time. I mostly focused on my mother, seeing nothing but her steely gaze and pursued lips. Dread washed over me as she didn't try to help me. My mother announced back before when I refused to leave my mentor (who is also my oldest brother, not that I will call him that publicly or willingly) that I was an enemy of my former family. She didn't care about me anymore.

I remembered when my last breath left me. I remembered seeing my father's broken face before me. Father has lost so many, and I added to that list. I hated myself for causing him such strong negative emotion.

I didn't last dead, however, just like how my father's second protégé was revived. It was from a Chaos Shard and not only was I brought back to life, I managed to develop myself some powers. Such utter monstrosity. I was scandalized when I discovered this, I wouldn't be the same. Powers would only weaken me. I have true potential as a fighter and a hero without power.

Because of these powers, I didn't immediately came back to my old job: a crime-fighter in the gloomy city of Father's. I went to an adventure to find my real self. Not only because of the powers, but also because the person who I first opened up to and the person that trusts me completely was gone. He was declared dead by Father. I didn't believe him at first, but he told me about the story about the wretched evil counterpart of Father's league.

Before, I was not afraid of death. Experiencing it my own and finding out that someone... special... to me was dead changed that opinion of mine. I learned that it was not a cowardly act to be afraid of death. Father taught me that it was okay, even the most powerful or brave ones were afraid of it.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Oh my gods, I did it again. I created another one-shot but this one's helluva longer than the other (Glimpses). If you're a DC fan, it's not hard to recognize the four people with the POVs. I think I liked the last two parts better. I tried to avoid writing a name (like Flash, Green Arrow, Booster Gold, etc.) because I want this to be like... Well, mysterious. Bear with me, guys, I know this isn't mysterious or suspense just pretend it is. There are actually two one-shots about "Thoughts and Feelings" so hope that the next one-shot ("Thoughts and Feelings 2") would be published soon. Chapter Thirteen of Blast to the Future would be published tomorrow. I don't know! XD Stay tuned, guys, and if you want more one-shots just PM me.

Don't forget to **RATE** or **REVIEW**.


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